𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 [𝐉𝐉𝐊]

7

Jungkook groaned as the loud knock on his door echoed through his spacious room. He threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the morning light streaming through the tall windows.

The knock came again, more insistent this time, followed by the unmistakable voice of his grandmother.

“Jungkook, get up! You’re going to be late!”

He sighed, pushing himself up on one elbow, his muscles rippling as he moved. Eight years of rigorous discipline had transformed him from the grumpy, rebellious teenager into a man of undeniable presence.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold marble floor, and ran a hand through his tousled hair.

Jungkook stood, the blanket falling away to reveal his well-defined torso, the result of years of physical training.

His hair fell messily over his face, the dark strands framing his sharp features. With a quick flick of his wrist, he gathered his hair into a man bun, tying it back with practiced ease.

As he moved towards the wardrobe, he muttered under his breath, “She always has to be on my back, doesn’t she?”

He opened the wardrobe, pulling out a crisp, tailored suit—yet another requirement of his royal upbringing.

A few maids entered the room quietly, their presence almost ghost-like as they carried in his shoes, freshly polished to a mirror shine, and his suit, impeccably ironed.

They set everything down, bowing slightly as they prepared to assist him. Jungkook raised an eyebrow at the fuss but allowed them to help him dress.

As they smoothed out the fabric of his suit and adjusted his tie, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

'Prim, proper, and absolutely perfect.' He rolled his eyes at the thought. 'Just the way she likes it.'

The last of the maids handed him his shoes, and as he slipped them on, he took a deep breath. He straightened his posture, smoothing down the lapels of his suit, and plastered on a neutral expression.

He had learned to suppress his emotions, to hide his true thoughts behind a mask of calm and collected demeanor. This was who he had to be now.

Jungkook opened the door, stepping out to greet his grandmother. He bowed slightly, the gesture precise and respectful, though inwardly he loathed it.

“Good morning, Grandmother,” he said, his voice steady and polite.

Charlotte’s eyes swept over him, and a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Good morning, Jungkook,” she replied, her voice softened with approval. “You look… most presentable.”

“Thank you,” he said, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. He had become a master at hiding his true feelings.